


Waking Up

by captainfireme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial, F/M, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:11:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8539717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfireme/pseuds/captainfireme
Summary: There was no path of decisions and intentions that could have possibly led to this moment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I can write better than this, but I found it finished in one of my folders, and my profile looked awfully empty, so there ya go. Not my world, not beta'd yadda yadda. Hope you like!

It never really happened. There was no path of decisions and intentions that could have possibly led to this moment, so Harry didn’t consider it a part of his reality. 

Ron and Hermione were real. Hogwarts with all its new cracks and scorch marks and ripped portraits was real. Transfigurations lessons seemed surreal, because how could sitting in a class room as if nothing had happened ever feel normal again, but Harry intellectually knew it was real. 

Pushing Malfoy against the wall in a dark corridor in the dungeons while they moved against each other in frantic passion, however, could not under any circumstances be considered real. 

Malfoy was all hands and teeth and barely any kissing, as if he thought they were still fighting. Maybe they were. Harry didn’t mind. Malfoy’s refusal to allow any gentleness between them made it feel as if this was normal, rather than the most insane thing he had ever done. 

It wasn’t scarier than walking into the Forbidden Forest, because nothing compared to that, but it was close enough. Whenever his brain made a feeble attempt to comprehend what he was doing, his heart sped up and a feeling of panic filled his chest, so instead he focused on skin and rhythm. And the feeling of Malfoy’s collarbone beneath his fingers when he stroked his hand up to grasp lightly around Malfoy’s neck. In fact, Malfoy’s collarbone was a marvelous thing to focus on. Whenever Harry bit him there, Malfoy moaned, and Malfoy’s moans were probably the reason Harry hadn’t yet stopped this in the first place. 

It wasn’t happening, so Harry didn’t focus on the fact that touching Malfoy felt like burning himself on ice, or that nothing he was feeling made sense. He had never thought about this before, so he didn’t expect the gasps Malfoy made, or the way his fingers caught on the hem of Harry’s shirt. Out of the things he had never thought to expect, the lack of sneering and teasing was probably the most unsettling. If he had ever thought about it, he would have thought of banter and name-calling and driving each other insane. Frustration channelled into touch rather than words, not sincerity and need.

***

Winter was quiet, biting cold, and the creeping realisation that adult life was just around the corner. Harry went to Hogsmeade twice, once with Ron and Hermione and once with Ginny. He walked past Malfoy, holding hands with Ginny, decidedly not noticing the scarlet burn of Malfoy’s cheeks against a backdrop of falling snow. A moment later something sharp and painful hit him in the back of his knees, and he stumbled, falling face first onto the hard pavement. He spit out a mouthful of muddy snow and told Ginny he was alright and not to retaliate. He let her pull him up, and they continued walking in the direction of warmth and butterbeer. He never turned around. 

***

Harry was so sure it didn’t happen, that he was genuinely surprised when Malfoy pulled him into a classroom and shouted at him. It wasn’t so much what Malfoy was saying — it was all insults and cutting pain — but rather that he was shouting at all when he’d been quiet and serenity since they’d returned. That he was shouting at Harry as if he really cared, as if he understood what kinds of things mattered. 

Time was different since Harry had died. Moments felt fleeting, or like suspended instances of eternity. In some ways, it was as if he had been in a room with Malfoy for as long as he could remember, and would continue to be in it endlessly. He figured that, if being with Malfoy was timeless, it didn’t matter if it was real or not. It only mattered that, in this moment, they were there together. 

***

In the beginning, the laughter was worse than the screams when he woke up. The laughter made him happy and opening his eyes meant remembering he wasn’t. As the months passed, the screams didn’t fade, but the laughter wasn’t as painful anymore.

***

Ginny was vivid streaks of color. He wasn’t sure he was capable of more than monochrome grey, but she was his link to the world, and without her, he was afraid that he would float off and be suspended in limbo forever. When he explained this to her, she sighed and let go of his hand. He didn’t float off. He fell. 

Ron and Hermione were there to catch him, like he should have known they would be. Ron brought chess, and Hermione brought Firewhiskey, and they both sat down next to him, so close their knees touched. Harry felt pretty firmly rooted to the ground. 

***

Potions was different and Harry discovered he liked different. He couldn’t deal with sameness. There was a barrier between before and after, and after needed to feel different than before, or the barrier wouldn’t make sense. Malfoy continued to be different too, so Harry was forced to confront the fact that he was as real as Potions and Hogwarts and a future without Ginny in it. Malfoy didn’t protest when Harry put down his cauldron next to his, but he didn’t react either. Harry didn’t push. He knew there was enough time now. 

***

The wind was punishing, but Harry laughed as he felt it tugging at his hair. He flew around the pitch in lazy circles. The spring sun was warming his shoulders just enough to abate the cold, and the air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass. He saw a Thestral rise above the newly green trees in the distance, flying in much the same circles he was still drawing in the air and smiled. Life was good. 

***

Malfoy still wasn’t talking and Harry decided enough was enough. Time might be endless, but his patience was not. He didn’t say anything during Potions, but when the lesson ended, he fell into step beside Malfoy and drew him into the next empty room he saw. Malfoy didn’t protest, but he stepped away from Harry and crossed his arms. 

“What do you want, Potter?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, and for the first time admitting it didn’t feel like iron constraints around his chest. He felt light and full of potential. “But I want _something_.”

“How specific,” Malfoy said, “do make sure to find me and force me to listen to your philosophical ramblings when you have more information.” Harry knew it was meant to sound sarcastic, but he never heard the bite that would have made it so.

“I was hoping you might already be there,” he said. 

Malfoy kept looking at him stonily, but when Harry smiled at him he rolled his eyes, which made Harry smile wider. “I’m sure fate will see it fit to force your presence upon me as a continued punishment for my past crimes.”

Harry laughed. “I look forward to it. Git.”

“Whatever,” Malfoy said, turning to leave, but Harry saw the beginnings of a smile as he turned. “Later, Potter.”

“Later, Draco,” Harry said, cheerful.

He heard Draco snort before the door slammed closed and was completely sure the feeling in his chest was first, not panic; and second, entirely real.


End file.
